Our thoughts go like stray winds,
In verticals and horizontals,
And then they surround us with their lament,
Their wrathful and prudent forms.
Our thoughts are oft storms
That circle us with various phobias:
With fear of life, living and death.
Our thoughts are meadows
Vast and beautiful,
That allow us to sit and gaze through
Their scenic beauty.
To let us experience life.

Welkin Siskin is writer whose poems have been published in several anthologies. He lives in Washington. Read other articles by Welkin.